


Doctor Appointment

by albawrites



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fingering, Hand Jobs, M/M, Medical Kink, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albawrites/pseuds/albawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orders say Spinister has to give Fulcrum a thorough examination. So he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor Appointment

**Author's Note:**

> RATING: NC-17; sticky sex.  
> DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

It makes sense after everything that's happened that this was bound to come up. Cheerfully, Misfire has assured that it's not so bad and _really_ they're certain that Fulcrum is in perfect functioning condition so it should be a decent experience. But it's Spinister and Fulcrum can't help but feel wary anyway. After all, as good of a surgeon as he is, his violent reactions to things can be a bit off putting. _Just a bit._ Crankcase was not particularly helpful, snorting and saying that once Spinister felt threatened by the medical berth and shot it once during his own session, so good luck with that Fulcrum.

Eek.

So he's sort of really unsure about how this medical examination is going to go. And really, what's there to say? _Okay, you're still a dud bomb, have a good day._ Yeah, kind of a waste of time.

But he can't get out of it and Krok has been making sure of that.

Fulcrum stands in the doorway of the medbay, staring as Spinister is smashing one of his medical tools on the desk furiously. Once the larger Decepticon stops, he peers over his shoulder at the K-Con, then holds up the mangled equipment. "It was making a funny sound," Spinister explains.

"O-oh. Uh. I can totally come back later. You know, when you're done teaching it a lesson." Fulcrum squints at the leftover bits of whatever it was. Now seems like a really bad time to be here. Actually, _ever_ seems like a bad time.

"No, it's fine. I took care of it." Spinister tosses the tool over his shoulder. "Krok said we should really do this now. Besides, I wanna make sure your repairs are going through okay."

Fulcrum's shoulders slump. It looks like he's stuck with this. Don't get him wrong, he knows that _somehow_ Spinister is utterly brilliant at his profession, but then there's that whole... simplicity about him and feeling perpetually threatened by inanimate objects. It's a bit disconcerting.

Seems like everyone else is just used to it.

Reluctantly, he finally steps into the medbay. There's a strange, sudden air of professionalism about Spinister as he pats one of the berths, a silent instruction for his patient to climb on so he can get started. Eventually, after coaxing himself that he's pretty certain that maybe most likely Spinister won't hurt or kill him, Fulcrum settles onto the berth, sitting on the edge. 

Much to his surprise, once Spinister becomes entirely focused on medical procedure, he's incredibly efficient. Honestly, as the exam goes on, it's probably one of the better experiences he's had with Decepticon doctors. That's saying a lot considering what little supplies and proper equipment they have, but it's still effective. He's gently poked and prodded, fuel lines checked, optical brightness looked into. Though he's discomforted by it, eventually Spinister instructs him to lay down and open his chest plating.

From there, it's straight forward. Procedure. All things considered, Fulcrum is in pretty good health.

"You can close this," Spinister assures him. Then, he taps his hip plating. "Open up."

Uh. Fulcrum's optics widen. "Excuse me?"

"Your interface equipment. I gotta check that too, you know."

This quickly becomes _insanely_ embarrassing and a bit uncomfortable. Fulcrum squirms a bit as he closes his chest plating, then offers a meek smile. "Well, it's-- it's fine. It hasn't been used in awhile, so it's not like you'll find anything weird."

Spinister gives a slight huff. "Krok said I had to check everything. So I have to check, okay?"

"Spin..."

"Krok _said._ "

There's a wince, then Fulcrum gives a defeated noise. "I. I can't."

Spinister tilts his head. "Really?"

"It doesn't, uh. I can't open it. I mean, it's _there_ , but I don't have anything that. That opens." Fulcrum fidgets a little, twitching when Spinister shoves his knees apart and seems to be looking very, very intently between his thighs. "Happened to all of the K-Class. After the reformat, they made sure the new plating wouldn't let us open ... _that._ "

The point of the K-Class was to make them fearless and devoted to the cause, to die for it. The brief bout of boot camp for the K-Class had been primarily about beating that fact into the soldier in question. Keeping them from interfacing or even _self-servicing_ as an outlet forced them to contain everything. Or at least, Fulcrum assumes that was the reason. 

Yeah. Wow, now that he thinks about it, he hasn't done anything remotely personal like that for a really long time.

"Huh," Spinister muses. "Well. Guess I gotta fix your hip plating, then. Here, hold still."

"What are you--" Fulcrum stops, optics widening. "Spin?"

The medic is holding a giant drill in his hand. That only makes the K-Con squeak and try to cross his thighs protectively. There's a soft sigh from Spinister and he shoves Fulcrum's legs apart. "I'm just taking off the hip plating. It'll leave you bare for awhile, but it's not gonna help you if you can't open up and get off, right? Causes more stress or whatever."

It's so weird to hear all that coming from Spinister. Or, well, anyone on the ship, Fulcrum supposes.

Hesitantly, Fulcrum spreads his legs, grimacing when he feels the drill work on undoing the plating. Screws drop to the floor and eventually it's enough that Spinister pries off the entire thing covering his waist and crotch. There's a firm nod from Spinister as he sets it aside.

"We'll go ahead and finish up first," Spinister assures.

Fulcrum looks down at himself, trying desperately to not be flustered at having his spike completely exposed like this. There's no pressure in it, so it's sort of limp against his inner thigh, but there it is. That and with his legs apart, that leaves his valve extremely viewable. Even worse, Spinister isn't bothered at all. Right, why would he be? Medic and all; he's kind of scary, but he's probably done this a few dozen times or something.

"How long's it been?"

Ugh. That makes Fulcrum duck his head. He's not going to die because of exploding, the D.J.D., or from his sentence. Nope, he's going to die from utter embarrassment. "Just a little before I was convicted."

"Been pretty long then," Spinister murmurs. "I want to make sure everything's still in working order."

" _Um._ " Fulcrum gives him an uncertain look.

"Better that I check it now than you never tellin' me if you find out later it doesn't," Spinister points out. "Could have happened from disuse."

On one hand? Argh, Spinister really has no business being _right_ , because no, Fulcrum wouldn't tell anyone if he found out his, uh, equipment wasn't working. On the other, this means he's going to get pretty thoroughly examined by Spinister. He could say no and the surgeon's giving him room in order to do so, with how he's waiting, but Fulcrum knows he should consent.

So he sighs and lets his helm _thump_ to the berth as he tries to relax. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Do what you have to."

There's a hum of acknowledgement and Spinister leans forward, concentrating pretty hard on what's between the K-Con's thighs. It doesn't stop flustering him and Fulcrum still twitches when he feels a careful finger begin to work inside.

It's been way too stupidly long since he's had this kind of treatment. There's a gasp and Fulcrum tries to not think about it. It's just a professional examination, Spinister is just making sure his hardware is still functional. It's hard to make that line of thinking clear, but he's trying hard to focus on that, even as the medic's index finger slowly slides inside of him. 

He flinches as he feels the finger curl.

_It's just an examination it's just an examination this is for medical purposes_ he desperately tries to remind himself as the finger gently probes a sensory node and it sends a little electrical pulse up his spine _just medical procedure it's just an examination_ and Spinister is diligently checking, as if he needs to make sure every single nerve is active as he turns his finger and drags it out of Fulcrum before pressing it back in _justformedicalreasonsohfrag_ and he finally whimpers when he feels a thumb press against the external node.

Much against his attempts to remind himself that Spinister is just trying to do his job, he feels himself lubricate and his spike begin to pressurize. He doesn't dare look down or he's going to be pretty faced with that very erect, uh, fact.

Spinister continues to work, prodding every node he can find with one hand. The other curls around the base of his spike, dragging up to the tip before coming back down. Hell, even if this is in a purely professional capacity, Spinister really _does_ have good hands and Fulcrum gives up, moaning and hips twitching.

"Looks like just about everything's in order," Spinister assures. "Might be a good idea to make sure that you can still overload, though."

"Um," Fulcrum says first, lifting his head and now looking down. Yeah, his member's definitely pressurized now, and he kind of has to peer around it nervously to see the surgeon. "I. Yeah, that sounds. Sounds like a good idea-- _augh_ Spin!"

He can't help but thrust towards the medic's hands as he works with a clear intent, another finger pressing into his valve. At the sound of his name, Spinister glances up. "Huh? Did I hurt you, Fulcrum?"

"N-no. No no, you're fine. It's, um. It feels... it feels good," Fulcrum assures sheepishly.

"Oh." Spinister seems to relax at that, slowly sliding his thumb over the tip of his patient's spike. "I'm glad. Figured you would have said something if it hurt, but it's good to hear."

"I, uh." Fulcrum just stops talking for a moment, arching his back a little as the hands continue. Careful, downright near elegant fingers are curling and giving shallow thrusts into his slick valve, the other hand stroking and teasing him. Hell, Spinister's a good surgeon _and_ he definitely knows what he's doing with this. How in the Pit is he _good_ at this?

Gradually, the thrusts increase to his valve, and Fulcrum gives up any pretense that he's trying to consider this under any kind of capacity of it being a mere medical appointment. There's no real restraint as he lets himself moan and squirm under the medic, and he debates, seriously _debates_ asking Spinister if there's more he wants to do because the last time he's been actually fragged has been far too long.

But he can't bear to bring himself to do that and just whines, jerking his hips and feeling the charge build and build. There's a warmth spreading through his abdomen and terribly _good_. Somewhere, he hears a loud squeak of Spinister's stool as the larger Decepticon stands, looming over Fulcrum as he continues to work away.

"S-Spin?" Fulcrum stammers, peering up at him, then twitches at the fingers worming inside of him. " _Ah!_

"Uh." The medic pauses, looking down at the K-Classer, as if he's observing him. Well, of course he is, he's a medic, he should be--

Oh. No, that'd be more that Spinister is _checking him out._ Huh. That makes him wriggle a little, shuddering as the touching continues. Slowly, the larger mech leans in, giving Fulcrum's neck a small nuzzle and a small sigh. "You make nice sounds."

" _Um_ ," Fulcrum manages out, twitching again. "Thanks? Thank you. _Nn._ "

"I kinda wanna frag you." Spinister pauses, as if to consider those words. Then he nods. "Yeah, I wanna frag you until we both overload. Is that okay?"

Well. Points for being direct as hell, at least, and it's not like Fulcrum didn't consider trying to convince him anyway. "Sure?"

There's a strange and almost sort of maybe cute purr from the medic's engines at the approval given. Spinister rubs his cheek against Fulcrum's forehead before he's slowly pulling his hands away. It warns a loud whine, but Fulcrum knows it's a temporary loss. He stiffens up briefly as Spinister starts to pick him up, but he finds quickly he can relax; the medic's been nothing but gentle so far, so he tries to not feel threatened as he's more or less manhandled. 

Eventually, he finds himself positioned in Spinister's lap, the larger of the two of them sitting on the edge of the berth. They're chest to chest like this, one arm from Spinister wrapped around his midsection firmly; the other is grasping Fulcrum's hip. It's incredibly warm like this considering how much heat is coming off of the other Decepticon. His considerable size means a larger engine than typical, and considering how aroused he apparently is comes into play. With a pleased sigh, Spinister is opening his own paneling, his spike extending and pressing against Fulcrum's abdomen.

Wow, that's. That's certainly not _small._ Fulcrum just kind of looks down, his optics widening. No, he still wants this, but yeah that's impressive.

It seems like Spinister isn't entirely concerned about the size, though. Figures. He was just fingering Fulcrum about a minute ago. Weirdly good medic that he is, he probably knows that he's going to fit. Helpfully, Spinister is lifting him up by the hip, aligning himself before having the K-Con begin to slowly lower down. Fulcrum's vents hitch as he feels the head of the member gradually push in. It seems like _a lot_ , the size forcing his valve to stretch and accommodate. It doesn't really hurt beyond a slight pinch, but if the sight of Spinister's spike hadn't been any indication, Fulcrum's body is definitely reminding him of it.

Gradually, Spinister is pulling him down further, and the girth only seems to be more and more as they go. It's almost dizzying how big he is, but he doesn't want to stop, either. Fingers eventually find Spinister's chest plating in an attempt to steady himself in some way as they go, Fulcrum letting out little whimpers and whines. He can't help but lubricate _more_ , as if this is some kind of wonderfully terrible turn-on, having something this large inside of him.

Eventually, he finds himself fully seated into Spinister's lap again. It's at that moment he also feels the spike pressing against the _top_ of his valve, grinding there slowly as the surgeon rolls his hips. Fulcrum shudders and leans all of his forgettable weight against Spinister's broad chest. Here, he can still hear the comfortable rumble of the larger mech's engine. Yeah. This is good.

There's a squeak from Fulcrum as Spinister begins to slowly and shallowly thrust with his hips. Honestly, he's not particularly worried about any potential damages, but he can certainly feel every little _inch_ of movement that Spinister makes, the spike sliding against everything, every sensory node, and it fires up his nerves delightfully. Spinister clutches him close in a weird mix of being both protective and possessive and downright clingy as he starts to thrust a little more sharply into him.

"You feel nice," Spinister murmurs, his words simple but his tone complacent as he moves himself in and out of Fulcrum. "Does it feel nice for you?"

Words. Right, he needs words. Um. Fulcrum curls his fingers a little more against the impressive chest he's pressed against. "Y-yeah, Spin. It's nice."

There's a soft grunt, an acknowledgement from the larger of the pair. Spinister thrusts his hips a little more sharply, earning a small squeal from Fulcrum. "Good. I know I _have_ to make you overload, but I want to, too."

"Yep," Fulcrum lets out in a small voice, not in the least arguing with that decision and intent.

As the motion of the spike sliding in and out of his valve becomes much smoother, Spinister begins to press in much more strongly. There's a small hiccup in Fulcrum's vents as he feels the power behind every motion. The arms around him are tight, hugging and trapping the lithe Decepticon to Spinister's chest. Fulcrum can feel him nuzzling again, engine rumbling into a pleasured growl. 

He feels completely enveloped by Spinister, the way he hunches over and holds him and practically cuddles him as he continues to frag the living daylights out of Fulcrum. There's a shout from the K-Classer as now Spinister just _pounds away_ into him. Every motion has that thick member striking the top of his valve, and it feels like his nerves are on fire. It's _good_ , and he likes just how affectionate the surgeon is being.

"Spinister!" Fulcrum yelps, jerking his hips as he feels the medic start to stroke his less impressive spike again. 

"Still gotta make sure it's working," Spinister responds, his voice low and tone implying intense concentration.

It's too much this way. Having the hand move from his base to the tip, tweaking the head and moving back down. Seriously, Spinister has no business having fantastic hands _and_ being able to thoroughly 'face him. He can't last like this, how strong Spinister's bucking hips are, his thick spike, and getting a handjob on top of all that--

Fulcrum's fingers scrape uselessly against Spinister's chest and he moans, feeling his valve clench and squeeze over the other Decepticon as he overloads finally. Hips thrust forward into careful hands and his spike spurts as well, splattering lubricant between them. Spinister's hand slips away to hold his hips, and he's still thrusting, still not done, and the technician is too tired and limp to do much other than let him continue like this.

When Spinister _does_ finish, he slams his hips one last time into the worn out K-Con. There really isn't much room, but somehow the medic does manage to release inside of him, and he feels the liquid slowly dribble out of his valve without any place to really _go._ Fulcrum shudders at the heat and how messy he feels, but at the same time, there's the pleasing relief of having gotten off finally after so damned long.

"Your hardware works," Spinister informs him cheerfully, rubbing his cheek against Fulcrum's helm again. "But I'm going to have to install a sliding panel for your equipment if you wanna keep doing this easily."

"Sure," Fulcrum responds, dazed. He squirms and whimpers at the feeling of Spinister sliding out. Carefully, Spinister moves him so that he's laying on the medical berth. While he just works on venting out hot air and trying to bring in something colder to breathe, he hears the bigger Decepticon shuffle around in the medbay. Eventually, he feels a cloth draping over his thigh.

"Just for clean up, whenever you're feeling up for it." Spinister squints down at him. "Oh. Sorry about those scrapes. I can get those repaired after I'm done with your hip plating. It's gonna take awhile to install a panel. So you're gonna be uncovered for awhile."

"Um." Fulcrum peers up at him as he awkwardly starts to clean himself. "How long is it going to take?"

"Couple of hours." Spinister shrugs. 

That earns a sputter. "A couple of-- I have to go help Crankcase in an _hour!_ I'm not going like this!"

"What? It's not gonna hurt you to go work on stuff without this plating." Spinister looks sincerely confused.

"But my... my equipment is. You know." Fulcrum gestures helplessly to his spike and valve still being out on display.

"Yeah, I know. It's nice to look at and all, but it's not gonna stop you from working."

"Spin!" Fulcrum practically screeches.

"And I'm not gonna rush the job. That's just asking for a faulty sliding panel. It could get stuck, or worse, it might close on your spike or something. That'd hurt a lot and I don't want that happening."

Fulcrum buries his face into his hands. Oh hell no, this was _not happening_.

Spinister pats his shoulder. "Well, I'm sure Crankcase won't get distracted or anything when you're working with him. He'll probably just make fun of you."

"Gee, thanks," Fulcrum grumbles out.

"Oh, no problem. You can get going when you're ready. I'll get started with that plating."

There's a groan of dismay from Fulcrum.


End file.
